


Keep Me Warm

by Once_More_With_Feeling



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Because those are my favorites, Everyone takes care of Thomas, Forehead Touching, Friendship, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Sick Character, Sickfic, Support, discussion of suicide attempt, relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:15:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22070896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Once_More_With_Feeling/pseuds/Once_More_With_Feeling
Summary: Mr. Ellis is finally able to make a visit back to the abbey to see Mr. Barrow. Unfortunately, Thomas falls ill, and the visit is ruined. Or perhaps not.
Relationships: Daisy Mason & Richard Ellis, Phyllis Baxter & Richard Ellis, Thomas Barrow & Andy Parker, Thomas Barrow & Anna Bates, Thomas Barrow & Daisy Mason, Thomas Barrow & Elsie Hughes, Thomas Barrow & Phyllis Baxter, Thomas Barrow & Richard Clarkson, Thomas Barrow/Richard Ellis
Comments: 153
Kudos: 484





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Happy New Year, everyone! I hope you enjoy this one!

**Saturday**

Mr. Barrow presses his lips together, and tries not to smile. 

He folds the letter, and puts it back into its envelope, before anyone can suspect anything. But it is too late; she has already noticed.

“Good news?” Miss Baxter asks, as all the other servants stand from their chairs, and bustle from the room, ready to begin their work. 

He glances around, and decides that since most everyone else is gone, it’s safe to answer. He nods. “Mr. Ellis is coming to visit. Next week.”

She raises her eyebrows, and smiles. “How nice,” she says softly.

He nods again; it is nice. He and Richard have written multiple times since they met three months ago, but thus far, neither of them has been able to get away for a visit. Until now. 

Thomas had hoped to get up to London, more than he had wished for Richard to visit him here again. It seemed more likely they would have some privacy in the big city, but if Richard is able to come, he’s certainly not going to stop him. 

He tucks Richard’s letter into the pocket of his jacket, and stands. “Best get on,” he says to Miss Baxter, though he is unable to stop himself from smiling.

**Tuesday**

“Mrs. Hughes?” Thomas asks, as he taps on the door to the housekeeper’s sitting room.

She looks up from her desk, and smiles as he enters. “Yes?” she asks.

Thomas comes fully into the room now, and stands before her, with his hands behind his back. He takes a breath before he begins, and makes himself look her in the eye.

“I’ve had a letter from Mr. Ellis,” he says. “The king’s valet—you remember him?” he asks, casually.

Mrs. Hughes’ eyes smile back at him, but she does not allow her smile to reach her mouth. “Yes, I remember him,” she affirms.

Thomas rolls his eyes just a little at his silly formality. Who does he think he’s kidding? “Well,” he continues. “He’s… he’s going to be in York again this week, and wondered if he could stop here. On Friday.”

Now she smiles fully. “That’s lovely,” she says. “Will he be here the entire day?”

Thomas hesitates. “Well… that’s the thing,” he answers, as he shifts from one foot to the other. “He’s not able to come until the evening. He might be here in time for the servants’ dinner, but he’s unsure… Anyway, he doesn’t have to be back to work until Saturday evening, so…” somehow he both hopes and fears that she will take his meaning, and finish the sentence for him.

She does. “So he would like a room in the men’s attic for the night? And he’ll be here with us for the better part of Saturday?”

Again, he makes himself look at her. “Yes,” he says, trying not to clench his jaw.

She only pauses for a second, before smiling again. “I don’t see why not,” she says. “We’ll make sure we’ve a room ready for him, Friday night.”

He wants to smile back at her, but he is far too relieved to show actual happiness. “Thank you, Mrs. Hughes,” he breathes, and wipes his sweating palms on his trousers. “I’ll leave you to your work now.”

“You’re welcome,” she says cheerily to her door, as it closes behind him.

**Thursday**

  
Thoughts of Richard always make Thomas’ heart race. And he’ll be here tomorrow. That must be why, despite the fact that he has already gotten through speaking about the logistics of his friend’s visit with Mrs. Hughes, and Mrs. Patmore, he can’t seem to calm the constant flutter in his chest. It must also be the reason he somehow feels both hot and cold all morning. It certainly explains why the porridge he eats at almost every other breakfast looks positively revolting today.

“Are you alright, Mr. Barrow?” Mrs. Bates asks, from her place a few seats down. 

There is a palpable—though miniscule—pause in all conversation. Thomas clears his throat, and looks at Anna. He knows they both hear the faint echo of a different time in her question, and he wants to give her the right answer just as much as she wants to hear it. 

So he does his best to smile, and says softly, “I’m fine. Really.”

She nods, but he can see she can’t let it go quite yet. “That’s good,” she says. “Only it’s just… you look a little pale. That’s all.”

He can’t exactly tell her he’s a bit nervous about his beau coming for a visit, so he just smiles again. “I really am alright,” he says. Then after hesitating for just a moment, he adds, “Thank you for asking.”

She nods, despite the fact that she does not look entirely convinced, then looks suddenly at the bell to her right, summoning her to Lady Mary’s room. “That’s me,” she says brightly, before standing and leaving the servants’ hall. 

***

All he has to do is carry the main dish up the stairs. But what was earlier a flurry in his chest is now a rushing thrum in his ears, and he constantly shudders with an ache that clenches his entire body. He stands at the foot of the stairs with the tray in his hands, willing his feet to move, but they simply will not obey.

“Mr. Barrow?” Andy asks, from the top of the stairs. He must have realized the butler was not right behind him, as he should have been. “Are you…?” he begins, then walks back down the stairs. “Are you alright?” he asks softly.

Before he can answer, Miss Baxter is standing beside them, and says, “No, Andy, he’s not alright.” Thomas lets out a shaky sigh, but does not answer. “Could you manage both the fish and the sauce?” Miss Baxter asks Andy. 

He nods. “Definitely,” he says, then turns to the butler. “Don’t worry, Mr. Barrow. I can serve the luncheon myself; it’s just the four of them.” Then he places the sauce and ladle on Mr. Barrow’s tray, takes the whole load in his own hands, and hurries up the stairs. 

Thomas lets out another breath, and looks at Miss Baxter. After a pause, she reaches up tentatively and places her hand on his forehead. He briefly considers pulling away, but the coolness of her skin is unexpectedly soothing. 

“You have a fever,” she says with a frown.

“I know,” he whispers, and swallows, though it hurts to do so. “I don’t feel well at all.”

She returns her hand to her side, and says, “Go upstairs and have a lie down. We’ll cover for you.”

“But…” he begins.

“Thomas, we’ll be fine,” she says.

He swallows again. “It’s not that,” he answers. He looks her in the eye, and bites his lip.

She shakes her head a little before answering. “Maybe… maybe all you need is a bit of a rest, and you’ll feel better tomorrow.” She tries to smile at him. “Not to worry.”

He marshals the energy required to roll his eyes, then turns and trudges up the stairs. 


	2. Chapter 2

Despite sleeping most of the afternoon and evening, and remaining in bed all night, Thomas feels anything but better the next morning. He shivers under his blankets, and groans quietly every time he moves any part of his body.

He does not, however, bother to go downstairs and tell the rest of the staff that he is still unwell. He knows exactly what will happen if he is not in the servants’ hall by 6:15, and he is correct.

Phyllis walks into his room, leans over him, and places her cool hand again on his forehead. This time she does not frown, but asks in her soft voice, “You’re not feeling any better, then?”

He shakes his head. “Worse,” he rasps.

She nods, and leaves his side for a moment. He can hear her moving about the room, and then a cold compress is placed on his forehead. He sighs at the comfort it brings.

“I’m going to ring the doctor,” she says. “You stay in bed.”

He forces his eyes open, and whimpers, “Phyl.”

“Yes?” she asks, her hand on his face, and her eyes filled with concern.

“Richard,” he whispers. “You’ll have to tell him not to come.”

“Oh, Thomas,” she says. “I’m so sorry. I know you were looking forward to his visit.” He turns away from her, and hopes she won’t see the tear that slides down his cheek to his pillow. After a moment, she says, “I’ll telephone him, too, then. As soon as I’ve rung the doctor.”

Thomas nods into his pillow. 

Just before she leaves, she turns to him from the doorway, and says, “I’m sure he’ll be able to come another time.”

***

Thomas does not recall falling asleep again, but he wakes sometime later, to find a glass of water and two white tablets sitting on his bedside table. There is a note next to them that reads:

_Dr. Clarkson said for you to take two aspirin and get some rest. He’ll look in this afternoon._   
_I.L.Y._   
_—P._

Even though she is not in the room, her note makes him blush. Or perhaps it’s the fever. 

He puts the tablets in his mouth, and swallows them with the water. Then he turns on his side and curls in on himself, and pulls his blankets up over his head. 

***

Before he can fall fully asleep again, there is a knock at his door. Daisy enters his room, carrying a tray with tea things, and a bit of toast, and a little white flower in a jelly jar. 

“Thought you might want a cuppa tea,” she says. “Since you didn’t have any breakfast. Or lunch. Or dinner last night,” she adds, with a bit of a frown.

He moves to sit up in bed, which hurts a little less now, but that’s probably due to the aspirin. She sets the tray down over his lap, and adjusts his pillows for him. 

“Thank you, Daisy,” he says. Then he smirks a bit. “The flower’s a nice touch.”

Her face brightens. “Isn’t it?” she says. “I never would have thought I could get a daisy in November, but apparently we’ve got some in the hot house. The gardener gave me one.”

Thomas smiles.

“I mean, he didn’t give me one. I asked him for it, to give to you, and he said I could have it. For you.”

Thomas nods. “It’s very nice,” he says.

“It’s a daisy. Because—”

“Yes, Daisy, I get it.” He snorts a little laugh. “Thank you.”

She blushes like the girl she used to be for a moment, and then smiles. 

“The milk’s already in your tea,” she says breezily. “Try and eat the toast. Andy says he wants to come up and see you in a bit; I’ll have him collect the tray. Do you need anything else?” she asks.

“No,” Thomas says softly, shaking his head. “Thank you, Daisy.”

***

After his tea, Thomas tries to read, but his eyes ache, so he moves down in his bed again, and covers his eyes with his arm. Some time passes, and when he moves his arm away, it hurts, and his head aches. His eyes adjust to the dim light in his room, and he looks to his right, to see Andy sitting in a chair next to him.

“How long’ve you been here?” Thomas asks.

Andy gives him a bit of a worried smile, and says, “Not long. Brought you some fresh water. You probably ought to drink some.”

“Mm-hmm,” Thomas answers. 

“I’ll stay with you tonight,” Andy says. 

Thomas looks at him. “You don’t need to do that.”

“I know, but… I will. Just in case you need something.”

Thomas lacks the energy to argue further, so says nothing. 

“How’re you feeling?” Andy asks after a moment. 

“Wretched.”

“Right.” A pause. “Would you… like me to read to you?”

Thomas looks up at his friend again. “Alright,” he says. 

Andy looks suddenly a bit nervous. “I still practice sometimes. Think I’m getting better.”

The butler smiles. “I’m sure you are. Seemed you were perfectly fluent the last time I heard you read out loud. And you’ve been doing it for a couple of years now, right?”

Andy runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah,” he says with a shy smile.

Thomas does his best to return Andy’s smile, and hands him a newspaper from his bedside table.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit darker than the previous two. Please do mind the new tag regarding referenced child abuse.

They are two or three pages into the news, when there is a soft knock on Thomas’ door, and Miss Baxter enters, followed by Dr. Clarkson.

“The doctor is here,” she says, softly and needlessly. Thomas looks up at both of them, and heaves a sigh.

Andy stands from his chair, and faces the doctor and the lady’s maid, clearly unsure if he should stay or go. Thomas does not tell him to do one or the other, but says, “Let’s get this over with, then,” to no one in particular. 

Dr. Clarkson approaches his bed, and places his bag at its foot. “How are you feeling, Mr. Barrow?” he asks, trying and failing to sound congenial. 

The doctor smiles when he speaks, but if Thomas is not mistaken, his voice is filled with pity. He sighs again. “I’ve had better days,” he says, a little hoarsely. 

“Well,” the doctor says, lowering his voice a little. “I’d like to see what I can do to help. Is that alright?”

Thomas nods, then the doctor does, too. He removes a glass thermometer from his bag, places it in Thomas’ mouth, then lightly touches his patient’s right wrist with two fingertips. Again, Thomas could be mistaken, but it seems to him that Dr. Clarkson is very careful to slip his fingers under the cuff of Thomas’ sleeve, without exposing the scars on the butler’s wrists to anyone in the room. This, of course, is despite the fact that everyone present was also there the day the scars were made. 

Then Dr. Clarkson takes his stethoscope from his black bag, and listens first to Thomas’ abdomen, then his chest, asking his patient to take a few deep breaths. After a moment, he frowns, and says, “I’ll need to listen to your lungs from the back as well. Can you sit up?”

Without waiting for an answer, he pulls the thermometer from under Thomas’ tongue, and holds it up to interpret its meaning. He frowns again. “Hm,” he says. “Thirty-eight point four,” he murmurs. He turns again to his patient. “When was the last time you had aspirin?” he asks.

Thomas shakes his head, and looks away. “I don’t know,” he says.

“Sometime between ten and noon, I think,” Miss Baxter offers.

“Well. He should have another dose in the next hour,” he says. Then he turns again to Thomas. “Are you able to sit up?” he asks again. “And unbutton your top?”

Thomas nods, but he has been in bed for over a day, and sitting up is more difficult than he expected. In a moment, Andy is next to him. He takes the butler’s hand, and wraps an arm around his shoulders. “Here we are, Mr. Barrow,” he says softly, as he pulls him up to a sitting position. Miss Baxter steps closer, too, and helps Thomas swing his feet over the edge of the bed. Once he is seated on the edge of the mattress, Andy sits down next to him, keeping his arm around Thomas’ shoulders. While not physically necessary, something inside Thomas is grateful for the close proximity of his friend while the doctor examines him. 

He is, however, determined to do some part of all of this himself, and so begins working on opening the buttons of his pajama top. His movements are slow and clumsy, and by the second button, his fingers feel too thick to do the job. “Dammit,” he swears under his breath, and drops his hands to his lap.

“That’s alright,” Miss Baxter says softly, as she kneels on the floor, and finishes unbuttoning him. When his top is fully open, Andy begins to pull it down at the back. Knowing full well what is coming, Thomas begins to shake all over. As Dr. Clarkson walks to the other side of his bed, Thomas rocks himself forward and back, in a poor effort to hide his tremor.

Again, everyone present has already seen the permanent silver-white lines lashed across Thomas’ back, put there decades ago by his father. But he trembles all the same, at the thought of exposing them to anyone’s sight. Miss Baxter stands, and lets him hide his face in the front of her dress, while Dr. Clarkson moves the bell of his stethoscope coolly and quickly across the scars. 

Three more deep breaths, then two, and then one, and finally it is over. Dr. Clarkson steps back, and moves to the foot of the bed, while Andy pulls Thomas’ top up and over his back, and quickly buttons him up again. Miss Baxter leaves him briefly, to pull a small blanket from the back of the armchair in the corner, then wraps it around him. “That’s alright,” she whispers again. “We’re finished. No one can see now,” she soothes.

Thomas nods, but does not look anyone in the eye, as he falls back down into his bed, lying on his side. He holds the blanket tightly about his shoulders, and lets them cover him again with his sheets and silk duvet. He can hear Dr. Clarkson talking, something about “…more aspirin…” and “plenty of fluids… plenty of rest.” There is also “…not pneumonia, but… monitor… look in again.” 

He closes his eyes, and shuts out all of the world, except for Phyllis’ cool hand on his forehead. After a moment or two, he loses touch with that, too, and falls asleep once again. 


	4. Chapter 4

The back doorbell rings during the servants’ tea, but there is no reason for anyone present in the servants’ hall to be particularly surprised by it. 

“I’ll go,” Miss Baxter says, thinking she may know who it is.

When she opens the backdoor, she cannot help but smile at the man standing on the step. “You’re a bit earlier than I thought you’d be,” she says.

Mr. Ellis gives her a winning smile. “Yes, well,” he begins. “The premise of my trip north was a visit to my parents. So you can imagine that when I told the king’s first valet that my father is ill, he let me beg off a bit earlier than scheduled.”

She cannot stop herself thinking for a moment, how perfect this man is for Thomas, and grins again. But then her smile fades, and she says softly, “Won’t you come in?”

Mr. Ellis steps inside, and takes off his hat. Miss Baxter takes it from him, and places it on a shelf over the coat hooks. Once he has removed and hung up his coat, he turns to her, and asks, “Is Mr. Barrow down here?”

“No,” she says quietly. “He’s in bed. I can take you to see him in just a moment. Would you like a cup of tea before we go up?”

Mr. Ellis’ smile has faded now, too, and he says, “No, that’s quite alright. I’ll go up now, if you don’t mind. And—if you think he won’t mind.”

Now she smiles again, just a little, and shakes her head. “He won’t mind,” she says. “Come this way,” she adds, and the two climb the stairs to the attic.

***

When they reach Mr. Barrow’s door, Miss Baxter hesitates just a little. She glances up at Mr. Ellis, then puts her hand to the doorknob, and turns it. She opens the door a few inches, and the two peek inside. 

Mr. Barrow is still lying on his side, sleeping where she left him, an hour or so ago. A wet white cloth clings to his forehead, though she is sure it is no longer particularly cool. She opens the door a little more, and watches Mr. Ellis take in the scene before them—Thomas, sleeping in his bed, the empty chairs next to him, the spare bed against his wall. Even the little white daisy on his bedside table. Mr. Ellis furrows his brow, and while he does not seem upset, he looks a little confused.

He looks down at her, and Miss Baxter begins to explain things in a hushed voice. “When he’s ill, one of us usually stays with him,” she says. "Only it's tea time, so..."

Mr. Ellis’ expression changes from one of confusion to one of worry. “Is he often ill?” he asks, unsuccessful at hiding the alarm in his voice. 

“Oh, no,” Miss Baxter says. “I wouldn’t say that. It’s just…” What is the best way to explain? She closes the door now, and the two step back into the corridor. “Well, if, for example, Mrs. Hughes were ill, she would have Mr. Carson to look after her.” Mr. Ellis continues to look at her, and says nothing, so she continues. “And if Mr. Bates were ill, or injured, he has Mrs. Bates.” Now Mr. Ellis’ expression begins to change, and she thinks she may see understanding begin to spread over his features. “But Mr. Barrow—”

“Doesn’t have anyone like that,” Mr. Ellis interrupts. 

Oh. Perhaps not. She takes a quick breath, and tries to smile when she says, “No. That’s not what I mean.” She draws herself up just a little, and continues, “I was going to say, when Thomas is ill, he has all of us.”

A moment of silence hangs between them, until Mr. Ellis suddenly smiles, and exhales, and drops his shoulders. “I see,” he whispers, and nods toward the floor. Then he looks up to her eyes again. “That’s lovely,” he says.

Now she is the one to exhale with relief, and smile. “Yes,” she says. “And I thought… you ought to know that.” 

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

She nods up at him, and brings her hand to the doorknob again. She had thought she would go in first, and wake Thomas, and tell him that Richard is here. But maybe it’s better to give them some privacy. 

So she says, “You should go in now. I know he’ll be so happy to see you.” She opens the door for him again, and he steps into Thomas’ room. 


	5. Chapter 5

Richard stands stock still inside Thomas’ room for a moment, unsure what to do. He had wanted to come, of course, before he knew Mr. Barrow was ill. And he had still wanted to come, when Miss Baxter telephoned, and tried to tell him to cancel his trip. But he hadn’t thought it would be like this, somehow.

He decides to move forward a bit, and finally sits in one of the wooden chairs next to Thomas’ bed. He stands again almost immediately, and removes his jacket, and hangs it on the back of the chair. Then he sits down again, and rolls up his sleeves. 

Having nothing else at all to do, he spends several minutes watching Thomas sleep. He breathes slowly and silently, his lips slightly parted, his long eyelashes brushing his high and sharp cheekbones. His face is paler than usual, except for a heightened blush near his temples. 

He is so absolutely beautiful that Richard forgets to breathe for a moment. 

Mr. Ellis forces himself to look away, so he can focus on inhaling and exhaling. Once he recovers himself, he wonders suddenly if Mr. Barrow is too warm. He looks at the white cloth on the man’s forehead, and wonders how long it has been there. Can he remove it without waking him? It seems worth a try.

He reaches toward him, and pulls the cloth away, then freezes in his seat for a moment. Thomas turns in his sleep, moving from his side to his back. Richard waits another second or two, then rises from his chair, and walks around the bed to the washstand, where he dips the cloth in a bowl of cool water, wrings it out, and carefully folds it into eighths. 

Then he walks back around the bed, and pauses for a moment. Carefully, he lays the cool compress on Thomas’ brow, then straightens up. He takes a breath, and lowers himself into his chair again. The chair creaks when he sits, and Thomas opens his eyes at the sound.

Richard swallows, knows he should say something. When their eyes meet, he leans forward a little, and manages, “Hey.”

Thomas squeezes his eyes shut, then opens them again. “What…” he begins. He lifts his head off of his pillow. “What are you doing here?” he asks.

The compress Richard had just placed on his brow falls down now, and Richard smiles, and leans closer still, and picks it up. He sets it on Thomas’s bedside table, then lays his hand in its place, on Thomas’ forehead. At this, Thomas lays his head down again.

“Well,” Richard begins, softly. “Your Miss Baxter telephoned me this morning, and told me you were ill.”

“She was supposed to tell you that you oughtn’t come,” Thomas whispers.

Richard brushes Thomas’ hair with his hand. “Yes, she said that’s what you said to tell me. But she and I talked it over, and we thought it would be better for everyone if I came just the same.” Then he smiles. “You don’t mind?”

Thomas swallows now, and thinks for a moment. Then he shakes his head. “No,” he says. “I don’t mind.” He closes his eyes, and lets Richard continue to stroke his brow and his hair. 

After another moment, Richard adds, “Besides, I wanted to see you. Make sure you’re alright.”

Without opening his eyes, Thomas answers, “I’m alright.” Richard snorts a little, and at this Thomas opens his eyes, and frowns. “I mean, I feel awful, but…”

“But they’re looking after you,” Richard finishes. 

Thomas nods, and Richard gives him a half smile. “What?” Thomas asks.

Richard shakes his head. “What do you need me for?” he asks. It comes out sounding much less like a joke than he had thought it would.

Thomas lifts his head again. “Don’t say that,” he says earnestly. 

“Sorry,” Richard says. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have said that. Didn’t mean it, really.” Then he tries harder to smile. “Have you eaten anything today?” he asks.

Thomas makes a face. “I don’t want to,” he says. “Not when I’m feeling so poorly.”

Richard nods. “Fancy a cup of tea, then?” he asks.

After a moment, Thomas nods. “Alright. You’ll go get it?”

Richard nods, then hesitates just a little, before standing. He leans down over Thomas, and pecks him on his lips. Then he pulls back, and searches Thomas’ face for a reaction. 

Thomas smiles, and so Richard does, too. 

***

Mr. Ellis descends the stairs, with rather a spring in his step. Then he saunters into the kitchen, his hands in his pockets. A part of him wants to whistle a little tune, but that would be pushing it. So he ducks his head a little as he enters, and says, “Hello again,” to the two women busy working there.

The cook and her assistant both stop in their work. Before Mrs. Patmore can say anything, Daisy answers, “Well, hello. We didn’t expect you until dinner or after. When did you get in?”

Richard gives her a bit of a cheeky grin, and says, “Just a bit ago. Went right upstairs.”

“So you know Mr. Barrow is ill, then?” Mrs. Patmore asks.

Richard can feel warmth rising in his cheeks. He nods once. “I do,” he says. 

Before he can further explain himself, Daisy steps toward him, and asks, “And you came just the same?”

He can’t help himself. “Earlier, actually,” he says, knowing he is blushing all the more.

To his modest surprise, Daisy smiles. “I think that’s right nice of you,” she says in a low voice, her eyes shining.

Richard lets his smile spread into a full grin now. “Thank you, Daisy,” he says. Then he clears his throat. “Mr. Barrow has expressed interest in a cup of tea. Could either of you help me find one for him?” he asks.

Mrs. Patmore chortles a bit, and says, “Oh, I think we can manage that. We’ll make one for each of you, if you like.”

“That would be lovely,” he answers with another smile. 

Both women giggle a bit, and set about fixing up a tray. Mrs. Patmore sees to the kettle, while Daisy gets two cups and saucers, and a creamer.

“Mr. Barrow just takes milk in his tea,” Daisy says. “How do you take yours?”

Why is it so charming that the assistant cook knows how Thomas takes his tea? He doubts anyone in all of Buckingham Palace remembers how he takes his. Richard shakes what must be a rather goofy expression from his face, and gives his delayed answer. “Just sugar,” he says.

Daisy gives a tiny snicker. Richard lowers his eyebrows, and gives her a questioning look, though he continues to smile. 

“Sorry,” she says, but her smile stays as well. She adds a sugar bowl to the tray, and picks it up to hand to him.

“Thank you both, ever so much,” Richard says, with exaggerated formality. Just as he turns to leave the kitchen, Miss Baxter enters, which reminds him of something. He turns back to the cook and her assistant. “Did...?” he begins, then second guesses himself. It’s likely none of his business.

“Yes?” Daisy prompts him to finish.

He can feel himself blush again just a little, and tries to shake it away. “Did Mr. Barrow have an illness? Before I knew him?”

The three women go silent, and almost eerily still. He tries to fill the awkwardness he has just stepped in with more words, which only makes it worse. “Not like this, I mean… But, something serious. Before?” More silence. His eyes shift rapidly from one woman to the next. “Only it’s just…” He turns to Miss Baxter. “You said he isn’t often ill, not more than anyone else would be. But you all seem so accustomed to… caring for him.” Why can’t he stop talking? “So I just wondered—” Stop. Just stop. He exhales. “Never mind. I’m sorry.” And he turns to go.

“Wait,” Daisy says, and he stops. He turns around to see Mrs. Patmore silently shoot daggers from her eyes in the direction of her assistant.

Richard shakes his head. “I’m sorry,” he says again. “That was terribly intrusive of me. None of my business.” 

“No, but…” Daisy starts again, and now Miss Baxter gives her a pleading look. Daisy swallows, and looks again at Mr. Ellis. “It’s just—we’re all very fond of him. So we fuss a bit, when he’s ill. That’s all.”

It is undeniably clear now that this is _not_ all.

Miss Baxter closes her eyes, as if she has just lost a battle, and Mrs. Patmore looks at the floor and shakes her head.

“Quite right,” Richard says quietly. Then he murmurs, “Forgive me,” and turns, and leaves the kitchen, sorry for ruining the fun they had been having. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be aware this chapter contains some intense discussion of suicide attempt.

Thomas manages to arrange himself into a seated position while Richard is gone, a pile of pillows behind his back. He takes a deep breath, and closes his eyes, and tries to ascertain whether he actually feels a bit better—or if he simply wishes he did. 

For he certainly does want to feel better. It will take strength to do what he is about to, and not feeling like he is going to faint from the exertion of sitting up will undoubtedly help. 

Richard enters the room with the tea things on a tray, but it takes Thomas a moment longer than it ought to smile at him. And when he does, it only lasts a second or two. Something has changed in Richard’s mood; he walks into the room with a paler face and a furrowed brow. He sets the tea tray over Thomas’ lap, but does not make eye contact. 

“What happened to you?” Thomas asks softly.

Now Richard looks up at him. “What?” he asks. “Nothing. Why?” Thomas raises his eyebrows. Richard sits in his chair again, and opens his mouth and closes it again before finally saying, “I think I just put my foot in it downstairs.”

Thomas’ eyebrows move just a bit higher. “What d’you mean?” he asks. “With whom?”

The other man cringes a little. “With your cook.” Thomas gives him a look that is meant to assure him he has been in the same position himself. But then Richard adds, “And Daisy.” And after another moment or two, “And maybe Miss Baxter.”

Thomas’ eyebrows reach their peak elevation before he finally lets them fall. He takes a sip of his tea before he asks, “What did you do?”

Richard reaches for his own tea now, stalling perhaps. He takes a sip, then lowers the cup to his lap before he answers, “I asked them something I shouldn’t’ve.” He shakes his head, and looks down at his tea. “Forgot myself. I was impertinent.”

Thomas takes another sip. “What did you ask about?” he says, trying to keep his voice even. 

Richard looks up and into Thomas’ eyes. “You,” he says. “I asked them something about you.” 

Thomas lowers his cup to its saucer. “I see,” he says to the tray. When he looks up again, he is sure there are tears in Richard’s eyes. “What did you ask, exactly?” he whispers.

“I…” Richard begins. “I’m sorry, Mr. Barrow. It isn’t any of my business. I shouldn’t have done it, but I…”

“What?”

He shakes his head. “It’s just… seeing how good they’ve been to you—which I love! I do, but… it made me wonder if something happened to you before, and I asked them, and I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

Thomas nods. “Did they answer you?” he asks.

Richard looks up at him again. “No,” he says. “Not really. I mean, Daisy told me they all just fuss over you when you’re ill, which made me even surer that you’d been ill before, or…” He sighs. “Never mind. I’m just digging myself in deeper. Don’t know when to stop talking sometimes, it seems.” 

Thomas snorts, and Richard rolls his eyes. Then they are both silent for a moment. “Is that something you want an answer to?” Thomas asks.

Richard swallows, and takes a deep breath. “I think…” he begins. “I think people usually ask what they want to know. So… yes, it is. But it’s not my business, and it’s not my place to ask.”

Now Thomas takes a deep breath. “And what if I wanted to make it your business?” he asks softly.

The silence stretches between them, and a few seconds pass before Thomas realizes he is holding his breath. After an eternity, Richard nods. 

“Yes,” he says. Then he nods again. “Yes, I would like that. Please do.”

Thomas draws a shaky breath, and without thinking, reaches for Richard’s hand. Richard places his teacup and saucer on the bedside table, then moves from his chair to the bed. Thomas looks down at their fingers, laced together in his lap, and begins. 

***

“I want you to know that I’m not telling you this because I want your pity. It’s because I want… to be yours, and I want you to be mine. And I can’t possibly go forward from here, and spend time with you, and love you, and… let you love me, without you knowing. 

“It’s not something I’m proud of. It might be the worst thing I’ve ever done, and I’ve done plenty that isn’t to be proud of. But it’s an important part of me. And I want you to know that once I’ve told you, you can go if you want, and I won’t think any less of you. I’ll always be grateful for knowing you, whatever happens.”

And then he slowly and carefully removes his hands from Richard’s, and rolls up his sleeve, nearly to his elbow. Once his left forearm is exposed, he does the same to his right sleeve, and lays his scarred wrists upon his lap, for Richard to see. Then he takes a deep breath, and continues.

“It was two years ago June. I had said things, and done things, and I couldn’t see any way out from under them. And they needed to reduce staff here, and Mr. Carson told me I needed to find another job. I tried, but I couldn’t find one. At the time, that seemed like a sign, that I wasn’t wanted anywhere. 

“I didn’t have many friends then, but… I tried to help Andy, with a… problem he was having. To show him I wanted to be his friend. And it all went wrong, and Mr. Carson thought I was trying to… take advantage of him, being young and all. And that made me think that… they would take away the children from me, too. That Mr. Carson, or Lady Mary, or someone, would think I wasn’t fit to be around them, and…”

He wipes a tear from his eye with the back of his hand. Determined to finish, he chokes out, “And then I really would have had no one.”

Richard lays a hand over one of Thomas’ wrists, and moves closer. With his other hand, he reaches up and brushes another tear from Thomas’ face. “But you couldn’t have really had no one, could you?” he asks softly.

Thomas shakes his head. “No. But at the time, it seemed so real. I really thought I wasn’t allowed to love anyone.”

Richard’s eyes are filled with sorrow, and worry. He leaves his hand on the side of Thomas’ face, and strokes his cheek with his thumb. “How did you… survive?” he whispers.

Thomas nods. “Miss Baxter knew. I still don’t understand how, but she did.” He looks down at his lap now. “I did it in the bathroom, and she found Andy, and he broke down the door, and they sent for the doctor.” He shakes his head a little again. “They found me in time.” 

“I’m glad,” Richard manages.

Thomas manages to smile just a little. “Yeah,” he says. Then his face falls again. “And afterward, they all looked after me. God, they took such good care of me,” he says, more to himself than to the man sitting with him. “It took weeks—months—before I was alright again. And they all just…” Somehow he cannot find the words to finish that sentence. 

Before he can speak any further, Richard asks, “Do they all know?”

Thomas nods. “Most of them.” He rolls his eyes. “It was supposed to be a secret, but… people talk, and actually I’ve found it’s better that they know. Then I don’t have to worry about any of them finding out.”

Richard waits a moment, then asks the same question again, with a different meaning. “Do they all _know_?”

Thomas looks into his eyes, and gives the same answer. “Most of them.”

Richard sits back a bit. “They—” he begins, then stops. “They all know, and they haven’t—” 

He can’t seem to finish, so Thomas speaks again. “No one who’s still here. There were others who tried, but…” he shakes his head. “The family, or the other servants always protected me. Seems they think it would be unfair, my being ruined for something I can’t help.”

Richard stares at him in stunned silence. After several seconds, he manages only to say, “That’s…”

“I know,” Thomas says. Then he takes another deep breath, and continues, “I think that’s part of why I wanted to tell you.” He lifts his wrists off of his lap. “About this. So you wouldn’t have to find out.” When Richard doesn’t answer, he carries on. “But more important, I can’t go forward with… us. Without you knowing.” He takes a deep breath, and adds, “And I meant it; you’re free to go now, if you want.” 

Now Richard speaks, without hesitation. “I don’t want to go,” he says. “I don’t want to.”

Thomas lets out an enormous breath. “Really?” he asks.

“Really.”

Now Thomas truly begins to cry, all the tears he had been holding as he spoke. He lowers his head, and brings his hands to his face, and sobs.

Richard moves from his place, facing Thomas on the edge of the bed, and sits next to him. He wraps his arms around him, pulling him close. Thomas lays his head on Richard’s chest, and shudders in his arms. “Shh,” Richard says softly, as he strokes Thomas’ hair. “It’s alright now,” he whispers. “It’s alright.”

Thomas nods, and whispers back, “I want you to stay.”

“I will,” Richard says. “I’m right here.”


	7. Chapter 7

He cannot remember the last time he was so warm.

Back when it had first happened, and he had been in such a bad way, Phyllis had spent so many nights, lying in his bed with him. She had held him in her arms, and kissed his brow, and stroked his face, and whispered to him that he was her sweet boy. Preposterous, that; he had been sure at the time that he had never been anyone’s sweet anything. And yet it had helped, at the time, to begin to thaw the icy, desperately lonely place inside of him. He had been comforted. 

And if that had been comfort, then this is Comfortable. Not just something given—and sorely needed—but something that lives and grows inside of him, nurtured by his newfound love for himself, as well as the love others give him. The experience of waking up in Richard’s arms is a warmth so new and so absolute, he had been sure until this moment that it did not exist. He is so warm now, it is difficult to recall that there was ever any place inside him that seemed frozen beyond saving. 

And yet, here he is, in his own bed, wrapped in blankets, held together by the man he loves, who has just promised not to leave him. And the first cohesive thought to make its way through Thomas’ brain and out his mouth is, “What time is it?”

Richard moves as little as possible, but cranes his neck to see the clock on the bedside table. “Half eight,” he whispers.

He has been sleeping for at least an hour, perhaps two. Thomas nestles further into his blankets, and Richard’s chest, and murmurs, “Nearly time for the servants’ dinner. You’ll want to go down, won’t you?”

“No,” Richard says softly. “Not without you.”

Thomas smiles, and stays where he is, but tilts his face upward to look at Richard. “You must be starving, though.”

Richard shrugs. “No. I’m alright,” he says.

Thomas looks down again, and takes a moment to assess how he feels. He is not quite as achy as he had been, and his temperature seems near normal. He focuses on his stomach, and it rumbles a bit. Perhaps he is hungry, too. 

“Maybe we could both go down,” he says, and sits up a little. 

Richard lets him go, but keeps a hand on his shoulder. Then he moves his hand to Thomas’ forehead, checking for fever. “Are you certain? Hadn’t you better stay in bed a bit longer?”

Thomas allows himself a bit of a laugh, and says, “I’ll come right back up after we eat, I promise.” Richard gives him a smile in return. “I should probably get dressed, though.”

Richard furrows his brow in mock concern. “If only there were a valet here who could help you,” he says. 

“Cheeky,” Thomas mutters, though his smile does not fade. And the two manage to pull themselves from the bed. 

***

Once Thomas is dressed in a shirt and trousers and waistcoat, and his hair is combed, and his shoes put on his feet, the two set about silently making the bed together. When the sheets are smoothed, and the pillows in place, they both reach for the blue silk duvet, and spread it over the bed. 

“Where did you get such a beautiful coverlet?” Richard asks, still looking down at the shiny blue silk. 

Thomas runs a hand through his hair, and looks back at the man standing across the bed from him. “The family gave it to me,” he says.

Richard nods. “One they didn’t want any more?” he asks.

Thomas looks down now. “Not exactly,” he says. “It was back then, when…” All the cards are on the table now, but can he speak aloud about it, and call it what it is?

“The time you told me about? When they were all looking after you?” Richard supplies. 

Thomas nods now, too. “Yeah. They were being kind,” he says with a small smile. “Wanted to help me keep warm.”

Richard walks around the bed to the middle of the room now, and takes Thomas’ hand in his. “Did it help?” he asks. 

“Yes,” Thomas answers. “It did.”

Richard leans forward and places a tiny kiss on Thomas’ nose. “Good,” he says. 

Thomas laughs a little. Richard does not let go of his hand, and the two make their way down the stairs together. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has read and supported this one over the last two weeks. I so appreciate your kudos and comments! Till next time...

They hold hands as they walk down the stairs—something of a risk, but it seems nearly impossible to let go of Thomas right now. And besides, most all the other servants have gone home for the day, or are already downstairs. 

When they reach the top of the staircase that will bring them to the kitchen and servants’ hall, Richard stops. He squeezes Thomas’ hand once more, and finally lets go. He gives an encouraging smile, and Thomas nods. Then they move down the last of the stairs, in step with one another, though not touching. 

At the bottom of the steps, they are met by Mrs. Bates, whose face brightens on seeing them. “Hello, Mr. Ellis,” she says cheerfully, then turns to Thomas. “Hello, Mr. Barrow. It’s nice to see you up and about.”

Thomas raises his eyebrows and gives her a tired looking smile. “Thank you, Anna,” he says softly. 

“Will you have dinner with us?” she asks.

“I think we both will,” Thomas says, and looks toward the kitchen. “Suppose I ought to run it by Mrs. Patmore.”

“That’s alright,” Anna says. “You go sit down, and I’ll tell her. I’m sure there’s more than enough; there always is.”

“Thank you,” Thomas says once more, and the two men move into the servants’ hall. 

Dinner is not on the table yet, but Andy and Phyllis stand from their chairs when the butler enters the room. He gives them an appreciative smile, and makes a motion with his hand for them to sit down. Andy does, but Phyllis comes around the table, and puts her hand on Thomas’ arm.

“How are you feeling?” she asks. “I’m surprised to see you out of bed.”

Thomas swallows. “A little better, I think,” he says. “Thought I might have a bit of dinner.” Phyllis moves to pull out his chair at the head of the table, but Thomas nods to his rocker by the fire. “Think I might just sit here, though, if that’s alright.”

“Of course,” she says with a nod. 

Once Thomas is settled by the fire, Richard takes a place at the table. He could choose a seat nearer to Thomas, but he places himself on the far side of the table, so he won’t have his back to him. 

As a result, he is treated to watching most all the other servants at Downton Abbey love and care for their mildly ailing butler. 

Mrs. Hughes enters the room from the far door next, and sees Thomas sitting in his rocker. She approaches him, and puts her hand on his forehead. “What are you doing out of bed?” she asks gently. 

Satisfied that he is not burning with fever, she removes her hand, and Thomas gives her a mock scowl. “Thought you’d like it if I had a bit of dinner,” he says, holding back a smile. 

“That’s fine by me,” she says.

Then he asks, “Who walked you home last night?”

Mrs. Hughes moves her hand to Thomas’ shoulder, and answers, “Mr. Carson came at the end of the day, and we walked home together.”

“Well, tell him he’s not allowed to replace me permanently,” Thomas says, and gives the housekeeper a meaningful look, before closing his eyes, and continuing, “I’ll start walking you home again in a day or two, just as soon as I’m feeling better.”

“That’s also fine with me,” Mrs. Hughes says softly, and bends down to give him a small kiss, before taking her place at the table. 

Next Miss Baxter reenters the room, carrying a glass of water. She moves to Thomas’ side, and hands him something tiny. “Here, love,” she says. “I was supposed to give you your aspirin hours ago, and I forgot.” She gives him a sheepish look.

“That’s alright,” Thomas says, but he takes the tablets and swallows them, then hands the glass back to her. 

As Miss Baxter moves to take the glass back to the kitchen, Andy stands from his place and approaches Thomas. He puts one hand on the butler’s shoulder, and leans down to whisper something in his ear. Thomas listens for a moment, then the two men look at each other. Thomas shakes his head, and says something too softly for Richard to hear. Andy nods, pats his shoulder, and goes back to his chair.

A meat pie is served for dinner, probably too rich for Mr. Barrow, so Daisy brings him what must be chicken soup, in a teacup, so he can drink it sitting in his rocker. Once she has handed him the cup, she leaves the room, presumably to bring more food to the servants’ table. But she returns instead with a blanket, and spreads it over Mr. Barrow’s lap. He thanks her with a small smile, and then she leaves, to finish serving. 

Through all of this, Richard is able to manage a few bites of dinner, as well as a few words of conversation with Thomas’ colleagues. But mostly he sits silently and watches his beloved be loved. 

And he finds that he hopes more than he ever has for anything, that there is some room left at the end of each day, for himself to love Thomas, too. 

When Thomas is finished with his soup, he sets his cup in his lap, and closes his eyes. Daisy sweeps in again after a while, and takes the cup away, and draws his blanket up a bit higher. Mr. Ellis listens politely as Andy finishes his story, something that had happened at the farm on the estate. Then he stands from his chair, and thanks Mrs. Patmore for the lovely dinner, as she enters the room to offer everyone cocoa. 

He brings himself to Thomas’ chair, and leans down and asks him softly if he is ready to go up. Thomas nods, and stands, with a bit of help. If anyone else in the room thinks it strange that the two of them leave the hall and go up to Thomas’ room together, they do not say it. And why should they? Clearly they all know about offering extra care to someone who has been ill.

By the time they reach the attic, Thomas is undoubtedly more tired than he has been all day. Richard wraps an arm around his waist, and guides him to his room. Once they are inside, he undresses him tenderly and silently. Thomas stands shirtless and beautiful before him, but Richard’s only thought is that he needs to make sure Thomas is warm enough. Quickly he retrieves a pair of clean pajamas from the bureau, and helps him into them. Once he is buttoned up, the two stand facing each other in the center of the room. Richard takes Thomas’ handsome face in his hands, and kisses him sweetly and slowly on his lips. 

Then he pulls away, and the two men smile, and Thomas rests his forehead on Richard’s temple. Richard takes Thomas’ right hand in his left, and wraps an arm around his back. The two sway together in the silence for a moment, and then Richard whispers, “I can’t wait to dance with you.”

Thomas pulls away enough, so their eyes meet. “Do you dance, Mr. Ellis?” he asks.

Richard leads him to his bed, and pulls the covers back. Thomas sits down, and lets Richard lift his feet onto the mattress. As he pulls Thomas’ blankets up and over him, Richard answers, “I have been known to dance, yes.” Once Thomas is settled in bed, Richard sits next to him, and brushes his hair again with his hand. Thomas closes his eyes, and lets him. 

After a moment, sure that Thomas is asleep, Richard moves to stand from the bed. But Thomas stops him by softly calling his name. 

“Richard?”

“Yes, love?”

Thomas opens his eyes now. “Are you alright?”

Richard smiles. “What d’you mean?” he asks. “I’m perfectly alright.”

Thomas nods. “I know, but… after everything I told you today, and…” he shakes his head, and looks away, but grins. “This little family I’ve made for myself… They’re a bit… unusual.” He looks up at Richard again. “I feel you’ve been rather thrown to the wolves today.”

Now Richard laughs outright. “Yes. I’ve been thrown into the midst of a bunch of lovely, kind, protective, and positively darling wolves. It’s been terrible.”

“You don’t mind them, then?” Thomas asks.

“I love them,” Richard answers, before he can stop himself. He feels a blush creep up in his face again, but knows what he has said is true, so he continues. “And I love how they love you,” his voice nearly a whisper now. 

“But…” Thomas prods.

Richard half smiles. “But… sometimes when I see you with them, I wonder if your life is good enough already, and maybe you don’t have room for me.” 

Thomas makes a sound that would surely be a laugh, if he weren’t so tired. He takes both of Richard’s hands in both of his, and kisses Richard’s knuckles. “Mr. Ellis,” he says. “I have all the room in the world for you.” Now he lowers his voice to a low murmur, too. “I’ve been waiting for you,” he whispers.

Richard brings one hand to the side of Thomas’ face, and leaves the other in Thomas’ grip. “Well,” he manages to say. “Lucky me, then.”

“Lucky us,” Thomas finishes, and the two say goodnight, with one more kiss that warms them both. 


End file.
